Poetry: A shade tree ain’t worth a dime when the sun is down

Our board games
were never bored games
but our truths
were always waiting to be born.
Our tumblers were full of pity
and our plates covered with shame.
I don’t even know your name.
The promises we were promised
hang heavy, and empty,
at their funerals.
Perhaps there is a consciousness after all,
and something was worth our belief,
but it isn’t here,
if it ever was.

At least there was a circus of the stars,
even if no one was watching.
Everything must be bulldozed for
condos,
for that is the one eternal truth.

I can hear the decay in my ears
and it is a strong fortress
against ego,
against time,
and effort
and hope.

At least when the time comes we know
we’ll be as mediocre as ever,
leaving behind the culled answers and
semblance of mind
that something did matter
other than our inability to hide
far enough away
that we couldn’t find ourselves.